


Typical

by blue_like_barnes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24361315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_like_barnes/pseuds/blue_like_barnes
Summary: It's not typical to wake up beside you, but after one morning, Bucky hopes it will be.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 86





	Typical

It’s not a typical morning. 

Light of dawn muted by the gray, patterned thump of rain. Late winter chill pools into the room, but the cold doesn’t touch you as you slip from beneath the covers of your bed, feet pressed onto plush carpet below. 

Quietly, you tread to the bathroom. Brush your teeth and wash your face, take a moment to peer into the reflective glass to see if you can discern a shift. 

If the difference you feel shines like marked change on the surface. 

If the lingering ache between your thighs, and the full, soft flutter of your heart manifests as a sparkle in your eye. A subtle glow beneath your skin. 

It feels that way, at least.

It’s not a typical morning. 

Reflected more when you step back into the bedroom, and catch sight of the not so typical man comfortably nestled in the bed you left behind. 

He’s beautiful. Movie pretty. Marble sculpted muscles and a jawline crafted from novels where unassuming protagonists balk in the surprise of being loved by gods. 

_“Hush-”_ _he’d whispered against your lips, pleased flush tinting his cheeks when you’d told him, “you are incredible.”_

_“Oh, I’m not saying I’m not. I’m just saying you look like one of those guys.”_

_“Hush,” he’d repeated. But he’d laughed, hearty and effervescent and proof that despite that marvelous exterior, most of what made him wonderful rested beneath._

It’s not a typical morning. 

Because the man carved from marble lies now, curved and pliant, atop your mattress. Sheathed in nothing but wayward sheets and swaths of dark hair that soften the muscle across his chest and along thick, tree trunk thighs. Strands of chestnut lie over his face, fluttering in the warmth of his contented breath as he watches you.

_“I’m not an easy sleeper,” he’d confessed, pressing a mint tinged kiss onto your lips. Light still glimmering in his eyes, oceanic wonder, but his words felt guarded and hesitant on his tongue, “I have trouble sometimes.”_

_“Turn around,” you’d whispered, nodding at his reluctance, urging him over. You’d wrapped your arms around him, circling his torso, nestled between flesh and metal._

_“I’ll be the big spoon,” you’d said, pulling his back to your chest._

_He’d chuckled, settling his hands over the top of yours, “More like a backpack.”_

_And you’d smiled, lips touching the nape of his neck, “Get some sleep, Buck.”_

It’s not a typical morning.

Because Bucky Barnes feels rested.

Warm and content in dove colored sheets scented with lavender. He stretches, writhes between them with wolfish spirit and wonders if this is how it feels to dream. 

He wonders if the whoosh of the faucet in the bathroom has ever settled so softly in the ears and hearts of others so early in the morning. Blissful, gentle reassurance of life. 

_“You’re shaking,”_ _he’d worried, braced above you, gaze fitted with concern as he kissed the trembling fingers you’d pressed against his lips._

_His heart beat heavy like thunder. Fast, like the flicker of hummingbird wings. You’d slipped those fingers up along his jaw, and back into his hair._

_“I’m just nervous, is all,” you’d confessed, with a smile that felt shy._

_Slowly, he’d lowered himself over you, touched his forehead to yours, breathed in the soothing scent of lavender. He’d smiled back, reassuring as he whispered in the dark, “So’m I.”_

It’s not a typical morning. 

Reflected in the way your eyes settle on his and soften. The way you smile, and the way he mirrors it, watching as you step into a pair of pants and tug on a hooded sweater whose sleeves slip long past your fingertips. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks, thick words laden with sleep as you cross the room and bend to kiss him, brushing errant strands away from his face. His hand catches the fabric cuffed at your wrist, and he puckers his lips again as he tugs it with the obstinance of one chaste meeting of the lips not being enough.

“To pick up breakfast,” you answer, acquiescing to his demands, “small confession, my pantry is pretty sad right now,” between kisses that grow progressively longer and wetter with fewer moments of rest between until you’re tugged off your feet and flush into his arms, laughing through the ardent fervor of sleep-silly soldier.

“We can eat when we’re dead,” he says, pressing you into bare chested warmth, skirting lips along your jaw and up to your ear where it makes you shiver, dodging teasing whispers of his breath.

“Sleep,” you correct, rolling off him and onto the mattress, “It’s we can sleep.” 

“Okay,” he shifts to his side, nuzzling his cheek to your chest. His eyes close, “We can sleep.”

Affection warmed from the inside out, you sift fingers through that mussed tangle of brown atop his head, “How did you sleep?” 

Bucky sighs, “Like a baby,” preening as your nails scrape down past his hairline, into the scruff of a half grown beard. 

“I could tell,” you murmur, lips curving into a smile as he tips his head back. Slowly, he opens one ocean eye through the brush of thick lashes. He peers at you, as you mimic the low rumble of a slumbering snore.

In a flash, he is up, wolf-like reflexes climbed nimbly over your body, caging you in. His gaze is crystalline bright, delight lined along the corners. Slowly he shakes his head, as the laughter begins to bubble from your lips.

“Dirty,” he growls, lowering himself over you, “rotten,” the outside world curtained, closed away by the sweep of his dark brown hair, “ _liar_.”

He kisses you.

It’s not a typical morning.

But it is the first of what will be.


End file.
